


Sometimes night breakfast is all you need

by capt_eli



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Gen, It's not actually crack I promise, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1766659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capt_eli/pseuds/capt_eli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "A fic in which young Balthier ends up at the Archadian equivalent of a Denny’s at 3am one night, shortly after running away from home."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes night breakfast is all you need

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by deltatea on Tumblr. I made a few small changes from the original prompt, mainly that it's not in Archadia and that it's literally the night he ran away. It turned out less funny than it may have been intended to be, but 3am Denny's is sometime more of an experience than we expect.

Balthier steps into the first establishment he can find that looks open. His hands are still shaking and the lump hasn’t left his throat. He wants to get further away from Archadia, but he knows he can’t pilot in this state. Crying in the cockpit was hardly befitting of a man like him, but that thought just reminds him that he’s hardly a man at all and the lump rises again. He swallows hard and sits at the table nearest the fireplace.

The tavern is small and cozy despite its emptiness. Besides Balthier, there are only three other occupants; a gruff older man and an even gruffer bangaa conversing quietly on the opposite side of the room and a woman maybe ten years Balthier’s senior wiping down the bar. It’s dimly lit, most of the warm light coming from the fire. He can faintly smell food and considers eating despite his slight nausea, simply for the comfort of a hot meal. His fingers itch and he wishes he had brought his notepad.

Balthier gets lost in thought, spinning his ring to give his hands something to do, and jumps when someone suddenly asks him a question in Nabradian. He looks up to see the woman from the bar standing at his table. Her hands are on her hips and she looks concerned. The question is repeated and Balthier knows enough of the language to make out “Are you alright?” He answers in clumsy Nabradian, voice tighter than he intended it to be, “Fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” The woman smiles gently and Balthier is surprised to hear Archadian words. “What’s an Archadian boy doing in a Nabradian tavern at this time of night?”

“Um,” he clears his throat and tries to sound less embarrassingly distressed. “Travelling.” Balthier hopes the woman isn’t so Archadian that she noses any further and he’s glad when she shrugs.

“Can I get you something to eat?”

“I don’t have any money.” It’s only half a lie; his money is on the ship and he’d rather not have to look at the stupid thing right now, even if it did mean getting food.

The woman waves her hand. “That’s alright. You look like you’ll wither away without it and I can’t have that. Bad for business.” She winks and heads for the kitchen. Balthier smiles despite himself.

“Ma’am?”

She turns back to him, one hand on her hip.

“Could you possibly bring me some paper and something to write with?”

\- - - - - -

Balthier eats with his left hand and writes with the other. He wrote out and solved equations while he waited for the food. Numbers always seem to calm his nerves best. When the woman brought him a plate of Nabradian breakfast, he switched to sketching guns, ships, and buildings. He tries drawing the bangaa at the other table but life forms were always his worst subject and he scribbles over the lame attempt.

The woman comes to collect his plate when he finishes and offers a room for the remainder of the night. “Plenty of warm beds upstairs. You don’t have to worry about money. I don’t get a lot of runaways but I try to help the ones I can.”

Balthier pockets the paper and smirks, feeling more like himself after a chance to relax. “What makes you think I’m a runaway?”

“Why else is an Archadian boy alone in Nabradia? Especially one that talks like gentry.” She smirks right back at him. “And it takes one to know one. Do you want a room?”

He stands and rolls his shoulders. His hands are steady and he feels awake enough to make it to lunch at least. “If I stop now, I’ll never get there on time.”

The woman raises one eyebrow. “Oh? And where’s ‘there’?”

Balthier winks and heads for the door. “The next adventure.”


End file.
